


Semn Al Vremurilor

by mountains_o_grace



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Drug Use, F/M, Falling In Love, Gryffindor Draco Malfoy, Harry is Good, He makes a difference, Hufflepuff Ron, M/M, McGonagall kicks butt, No return, Non-Famous Harry, Slytherin Harry Potter, muggle music is going non stop, stuck in 1945
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:54:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27613754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mountains_o_grace/pseuds/mountains_o_grace
Summary: Harry's fate was spoken into existence without his choice on the matter. He was born to fight a war and kill the man who has been after his head all his life.But he breaks fate.And ends up with a life he never knew he needed.---Harry at the age of 17, travels back in time to Tom Riddles's last year of Hogwarts.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry/Original Male Character(s)
Kudos: 63





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> To Know beforehand:
> 
> I want this fic to be written exactly how I envisioned it, so I might finish this fic six months from now. Or maybe two years. Or who knows, maybe five years.   
> But I will. I swear to you, I will. 
> 
> I promise, no matter how long it's been, I have not given up. I'm just trying my hardest to make it perfect. To bleed my heart out for the story I want to tell.  
> Please, bear with me and my non-scheduling self. And I promise it will be worth it. 
> 
> Also, this chapter is supposed to be extremely short, it's the setup/ prologue...

[64 years in Harry’s future/Current in every other character’s time]

  
  


He walks through the long hallway, reliving his earlier days as a teen running through the same halls. He doesn’t move as swiftly as he used to, but he doesn’t care to walk hastily at the moment. He delights in the memories brought with being here.

The wizards and witches, in the portraits around him, are moving about, but some nod as he passes. They don’t seem to remember him, which is expected. It has been 65 years since he attended this school. 

Random student pairs pass every once in a while as he heads farther and farther down. He makes lefts and rights and after a bit, he finds himself outside the place he was requested to be at. 

An oak door stands proudly before him, waiting to be opened. He takes it all in. He can feel the presence of five others in the beckoning room. They seem to be silent. 

_ “They’re wondering,”  _ He thinks amusedly to himself.

He breathes in and exhales slowly. They might be curious and in a rush to soothe their anticipating questions, but he has in fact been waiting over six decades for this. And he is by no means going to rush this.

Removing his hand from his robe pocket, he reaches out for the gleaming handle. His fingers touch the cool metal and he rearranges his hold before slowly turning it. It opens easily with a click and he pulls the heavy door open. 

He seems to have startled the younger ones of the group. Even the two adults seem to be a bit on edge. But as predicted, Minerva settles quickest. 

She was always a blunt lady, “Mr. Potter, please,” She stands from behind her desk, “Come in and join us.”


	2. It Wasn't the Purple One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> M83 - My Tears Are Becoming A Sea

[Before Time Travel: 1997]

Harry is laying on the bench swing the Weasley’s have in their backyard. It sways a little bit and for the last half an hour, it has been causing him to drift in and out of consciousness. And even with the constant creaking of the wood as it moves, it doesn’t deter him from dozing off. The summer winds are cooler now that the day is drifting towards a chilly evening. And with the canopy covering him from the sun, he dips easily into a snooze. 

But every once in a while the shouts of the family are heard from his isolated corner. Yells of siblings fighting and squeals of happiness and freedom that come along with the journey of summer vacation.

Harry, wanting to be away, just for a bit, sought a setting of silence. And in his searching, he had discovered this little place. It was covered in some dirt and had spider webs designing the rails, but it had been calling to him like a kind friend. And he had been easily persuaded by his exhaust to take a nice nap on the worn cushions. 

And his mind, for once, had been able to forget the harping images of Voldemort and the torturous scenes of Cedric and Sirius’ deaths. It had been quite a while since he had such a treasurable time during the midday. 

He deemed it as a lazy afternoon, dedicated to everything a lazy day entails. 

Meaning lots of sleep, a larger scaled intake of food, fewer interactions with people, and a maximum of ten movements every thirty minutes. And he has definitely stuck to these conditions for the past three hours.

But soon, he will have to forsake his idle duties for that of a more industrious one. Like going and helping Mrs. Weasley with dinner preparations. 

Another yell drifts over the wind. Maybe more like _now_ than later. He blinks away his slumber and shakes his head from drooping down again. He defies the pulling gravity, that caresses his want of sleep, and rolls until he is in a sitting position. He blearily looks out over the fields and the pink-tinged sky. It’s almost peaceful the way the wind drags lazily through the thistles and other herbs scattered throughout the yards. And with the added pink and orange hues above, it paints a pretty picture. Definitely something nice to open your eyes to. 

With a wide yawn, he stands up. Stumbling a bit with drowsiness, he makes his way to the burrow home. When looking over all the fields around him, he can make out some scurrying little animals. The bunnies chase after each other in front of his path, bees fly around the botanical flowers, and some brown lizards scamper past. 

Life even in these deserted areas. 

Birth. Growth. Death. All around here. Harry looks down and squints at the tiny ants crawling around the cracks of the ground. Now that he got a pair of new glasses, he can actually make out the individual insects roaming beneath him. 

He wonders how much weight an ant can actually carry. Do they die if squished with a pebble? How does an ant die? “ _Old age_?” He thinks mindlessly to himself. He wishes he could die of old age. It seems peaceful. Something to be fond of after a life’s time of happiness and fulfillment. 

He keeps walking. And the empty-minded thoughts keep him company as he goes along.

Before he reaches the first step of the porch, he takes a minute to fumble through his pocket for something. He pulls out the purple wrapped candy and stuffs it into his mouth. Just a bonus amp up to prepare for the chaoticness of what's to undoubtedly come.

He walks up the porch stairs.

When he arrives in the kitchen of the Weasley’s humble abode, he is greeted by the whiplash of redheads running around. Obviously, by the looks of it, the twins had got into some trouble. 

“-But Mom! Look what they did to my hair! The bloody gits!” Ron yells from the other side of the room, “It’s green, _lime_ green!” 

“Ronald Bilius Weasely! If I have to remind you one more single time about your language, _you_ are cooking dinner!”

Fred apparates into the room, “But Mom, that would be a highly discouraging plan. Think of the worms we would be puking after. Don’t punish us all over Ron’s inability to remember the basic rules of profanity. Am I right Forge?”

George pops in next to a reddened and angry Ron, “That was worded perfectly my dear Gred. Hits all the nails except one.”

“And what’s that my fair twin?”

“It wouldn’t be worms. It would be centipedes, because as I recall, Ron use to eat those as a toddler quite consistentl-”

Ron throws himself at him and pulls back his arm to bring it back for a punch, but George disappears a second sooner. And when Ron lands in a clump on the floor, you can hear his brothers cackling from the room above them. 

“Damn them and apparition!” He mutters darkly.

Ron shakes with anger, but sadly Mrs. Weasely had decided to put a charm up before the encounter and had not heard or seen a bit of what happened. She had been muttering of loudness and misbehaving children.

“I swear,” Ron mutters dejectedly. He looks up and spots Harry hovering on the sidelines, “Er, hey Harry... is the hair terribly bad?”

Harry looks him over. His immediate response would be “Yes, it looks like a squid.” But when he gives it another glance, it kinda grows on him in some odd way. It’s like an intriguing trademark. 

“Nah, you look cool.” 

“Oh,” Ron seems pleased, “Ah, but Hermione will think it funny. I better go find a remedy for it.” And not waiting another moment, he runs up the stairs.

Harry watches him leave and then walks around the dining table. He looks at the stew that is currently cooking in the big chipped cooking pot. It smells amazing. There’s a slight minty aroma, that of rosemary and chives. 

He stands next to Mrs. Weasley and taps her shoulder. She looks surprised to see him standing there. With a twist of her wand, the silencing wards are dropped and she speaks up, “Hiya dear. What can I get you? Want some cookies, I just made a fresh batch?”

“That’s alright Mrs. Weasley-”

“Keep that up and you’ll be scrubbing the dishes alongside Ron. Just call me Molly sweety.”

His cheeks go a small tint of pink. He never knew how to react well with the informality, “M-Molly, um, I was wondering if I could help you with the dinner course,” He looks once again at the boiling soup, “Or something that _hasn’t_ been made yet.” 

The older woman looks surprised, but then her eyes soften, “Aw, how kind of you Harry. None of my other children offer. Always you and Hermione,” She makes a face at her own words, “Well, yes, I don’t see why not. Here,” She summons a bag of dough, “Roll these into good size balls. We will then put them in the oven to rise.”

With an understanding nod, he steps to the cupboard and finds a baking sheet, and takes that and the dough to the table. He sits down and starts the process of rolling it into lumpy clumps. 

After he has completed three, he starts to pounder off in his head. He likes this. It's like a therapeutic activity. Something to keep his hands busy while not needing to think too hard about what he’s doing. On all the cooking shows he would get a peep of, from the Dursley’s tv, the chefs always mentioned it takes lots of patience and clear-headedness. 

But he would have to disagree. It takes understanding, but that’s all. He isn’t measuring and that might be the reason. But somehow, his movements feel robotic and easier when he drifts off. 

So he does. Lately, he’s been thinking of his future more and more. And not just of Voldemort and the war. But of everything. Everything he thinks of is something that will happen _if_ he survives the war. 

He wonders about Ron, Hermione, and his friendship. Will they see each other often or is work going to interfere too much? He thinks of the two’s relationship and what that will entail. 

Then he loses himself to the ideas of different jobs out there for him. He always thought that being an Auror would be splendid, but ever since the summer started he has been thinking differently. He already hates fighting now and losing friends left and right, so why on earth would he decide to do that for the rest of his life. It would only be life-straining.

He ponders on his own relationship with Ginny. It hadn’t ended the best. 

After watching Dumbledor die and feeling the rawness of what the war was truly doing to everyone, he had realized his need to be apart from her. And not just her, but everyone. So he broke up with Ginny. 

Ron high-fiving himself, when he found out, did not help in any way. 

He looks at the filled up pan. Harry summons another one to continue with the work. 

That is something new Harry has been loving. He can legally do magic anywhere he wants now. Of course not in the eyes of Muggles, but anywhere else is free territory. 

It’s a form of freedom that is more appreciated now that he gets to use it. 

He finishes another roll. The sweet he took outside is now starting to make his head buzz lightly, finally taking its effect.

Mrs. Weasley excuses herself with a fresh cup of hot tea to go outside to sip on it. And he is left to the kitchen by himself. But not for long.

Pounding of feet are heard coming down the stairs. Hermione, followed closely by Ron, Ginny, and the twins all enter the room.

“Well, I think it looks utterly ridiculous,” Hermione says with a sniff.

“And _I_ think it’s fresh in some badass way.” Ginny retorts.

“For Merlin’s sake Ginny, it’s _lime._ ” The irritation in Hermione’s tone is paling.

Harry left for a couple of hours and comes back to everyone being in a bad mood, well, except for the twins. But then again, when are they in a bad mood?

“It’s not your hair!”

“He’s my boyfriend!”

“So?!” Ginny turns to Ron, “Ron, do you, or do you not like it?” She demands.

Hermione follows suit and rapidly turns to the boy. Ron gulps audibly and visibly, terrified by both. Both of the girl’s tempers can be a frightening thing. And either way, he’s going to upset one of them.

“U-Uh, you see. What I mean is- That’s a tricky question…” He glances about the room and his eyes rest upon Harry. And Harry watches it happen, “Well, Harry thought it was cool-”

“WHAT!” 

_That Fucker._

“Thank you, Harry,” Ginny coos at him, “I always knew you were a good one.” And she smirks at a certain steaming someone before walking forward and plopping herself in a chair. 

Hermione, looking like she can’t deal with it or else will doom them all with an explosion, takes her exit. And of course, like a loyal lapdog, Ron follows with aching nerves.

The twins who had been questionably silent, eerily so, also take out chairs and sit down. Harry continues onto a fourth roll. He wonders if Hermione is going to blame him later. The raven-haired boy had always pegged her for a cool minded person. But...

“So Harry,” It’s voiced so innocently that it makes Harry feel the question is going to be anything but innocent.

He doesn’t look up at Fred, instead choosing to continue his rolling, “Mhmm?”

“Me and my sweet siblings just-”

George continues, “-talked and we three were wondering if you-”

And onto Ginny, “-would like to dye your hair?”

Harry, knowing what happens when you react with too much emotion at their comments, stays passive. But he does lookup. He puts on a mask of indifference, “First. You guys never talked, I’ve been sitting here the entire two minutes you’ve been at this table-”

“Oh poor Harry, what it must be like to-”

“-not be a twiplune-”

“-and not be able to have telepathic communication-”

“-with each other.”

He is about to ignore them and go on with his sentence, but then that stops him, “What the bloody hell is a _twiplune_?”

They look at each other. And Harry thinks it's their ‘telepathic’ way of getting the go-ahead to tell him. They nod and stare once more at him. 

Fred smiles, “I’m so very glad you asked my brotha from a different motha.”

Harry raises a brow at the cheesy saying.

Ginny sits up straighter and starts to explain, “A twiplune is something so rare and delicate, that you are very fortunate to have met us, Harry Potter. A twiplune is a name we made up for the concept of us.”

George leans in, “It’s an anagram for three words. Twins. Plus. One. Twiplune. Gred and I are the twins and Ginny is the plus one.”

Fred finishes off, “Basically it means we are triplets, separated by the birth of another idiot.”

“Ah, Ron.” He nods his head in understanding. It’s best to take the twins (and Ginny) seriously in these absurd scenarios, “Well, as I was going to say, give me reasons why I should dye my hair. It seems fun in a way. Talk colors to me.”

The three of them take out things from their pockets and then resize them to their original sizes. They’re folders and when they open they show tons of different pamphlets with photos and examples of dyes. 

They go off and on about different methods, patterns, essentials, and most of the gist that comes along with dying one’s hair. 

And it does look fun. Harry likes the colors they show. But he does admit to himself that he won’t want something like Ron’s. He’s not totally against bright colors, but the shade of green wouldn’t really go with him. It honestly doesn’t go with anyone. 

With the rolls forgotten now, he picks up a folder and looks through some different patterns. And then he flips to a page. And his eyes, if you saw them, start to glow. 

And he knows the one he wants. No longer needing them to go on with reasons to do it, he pokes his finger at the design. They stop. They look. They smirk. 

And he is being cascaded out of the kitchen not a second later. They laugh as they go and Harry joins in. Because isn’t this what being a kid is like? Surprise changes and laughing journeys. He revels in it. 

When Mrs. Weasley enters the room again, she sees the abandoned tray of dough. And with an eye roll that doesn’t have much heart put in it, she places it into the oven to cook. 

\-----

“Children! Dinner is ready! And Remus and the others are here for it, so hurry up a bit!” Mrs. Weasley’s booming voice looms up at them from the bottom of the stairs. 

Ginny giggles brightly, the twins keep touching it, and Harry is still staring gobsmacked at his reflection. 

“This is sure to shock them if nothing else.” George amusedly mentions.

“No shit.” Harry dumbly responds. _He_ is in shock. It’s even better than on paper. 

And then the sound of Hermione and Ron can be heard making their way down. And soon, they will see the difference. You would have to be missing a million brain cells not to. 

Harry cringes though, Hermione wasn’t too happy about Ron’s. And even though she isn’t dating him, he still dyed it right after her complaints on the subject. 

Well, he thinks glumly, she doesn’t own him. 

Ginny seeing the hesitation lingering on his features, steps forward, “Harry, you look so handsome. I’m telling you, I’m quite jealous of whoever gets you in the future-”

“Me too!” George remarks.

Ginny’s eyes twinkle at that, “See? You look hot. It’s your choice. And we three,” She points to all of them, “Have your back.”

“For Merlin’s balls, it’s just a hair change. It’ll grow back and if they fall over the sticks up their asses because of it, I’ll- I’ll laugh!” Fred says with confidence, cheering on their mission. 

Harry snorts, “Okay Fred,” He gives himself another look, “Thank you, guys. I love it. I really do.”

And he does. All his life, he’s been told he looks like the exact copy of his father with Lily’s trait of bright green eyes. And yes, it makes him feel more connected with them but at the same time, he’s his own damn person. 

And damn, pink looks fucking great on him, if he does say so himself. Which he does.

A voice comes from around the door, “What are you three doing, oh, Harr’s here too- HARRY!”

Another heart attack for Hermione it seems.

Ron peeks his head into the bathroom, “Oi! Harry,” And seeing the state his girlfriend is in, he decides to mouth the next part, “ _You look awesome_!”

Harry smiles widely back. He looks at Hermione’s face, which seems to be contorted with anger, and bypasses her to get into the hall. 

As he walks down the staircase, he can distinctly hear her muttering about stupidity and boys. But he decides not to be guilty. 

Together the group makes their way down. But as they get halfway, Fred angles his foot out too much, and immediately George trips on the outstretched foot and falls down blindly and hard. Fred having been overtaken by the rush has gotten his leg tucked and is pulled forward as well. And with no luck, Harry and Ginny had been in front of them. And so, in one giant tumble, they make their arrival at the foot of the door. 

You can’t even tell who’s limbs are whose, with them wrapped up as they are. Harry had landed on his back in an ungraceful move, trying to help Ginny from landing the same. But it had been futile for she hit the ground with a gasp of knocked out air. 

Harry, blinking his eyes to catch his bearings, makes eye contact with an apologetic George, who is draped over him. 

“U-Uh hey, Harry. Funny finding you here,” He smiles with fake sincerity.

“Hilarious,” Harry deadpans. 

“I like your hair, did I tell you?” The twin tries to bring his fingers to the tufts of hair. Harry catches his wrist.

“Yea, you did.” And then pushes the taller boy off. Thank goodness for quidditch giving him the strength to do so, for if not, George’s dead weight upon him would have forced him to be compliant underneath the older

They all slowly entangle. But Harry sat up too quickly. And the pain of his head hitting the floor with the added blur of the candy from earlier, has his head swimming in circles. 

_“Too loud,”_ He groans inwardly. He brings his hands over his face and massages his temples with his fingertips. 

“Wotcher guys, you seem to be taking after me and my falls.” Harry peaks up through his fingers at a beaming Tonks. 

“Hi, Tonks!” Ginny squeals a little kidlike for her current age.

“ ‘lo Ginny, Fred, George, H- Harry! You’re hair!” She exclaims, “ We could be twins ourselves mate.” She squats down next to him and starts pulling at the strands of pink hair.

Harry chuckles good naturally, “You agree with the color?”

“Aye,” She nods before standing and pulling him along, “Now, dinner you four. My stomach can’t take much more of the cravings.”

The twins head to the dining table first and start to chatter off with the other adults huddled around. Ginny, afterward, takes Tonks' elbow and heads off to the corner to talk and catch up. 

Harry brushes some nonexistent dust off his slacks before taking a timid step further into the busy kitchen. Before sitting down like everyone else, he heads to the counter and searches for the bread he had helped with. He soon finds them under a tin foil. Proudly looking at his finished project, he makes his way towards his chair by the twins. 

Mrs. Weasley, taking notice of him, almost drops the bowl of pasta salad, “Harry dear, your hair looks mighty different. A good difference, but what a mighty change!. How did you do it so quickly? And! It doesn’t look as ruffled either.”

He starts to flatten out his hair inhabit, “With a little help from the twiplunes,” He sends a wink towards the three listening at the mention of them.

“Who?” She looks puzzled, “Ah, either way, it suits you.”

“Er,” He goes a little pink in the ears, “Thank you, Molly.”

And with that, Harry sits down by George and conversation starts to pick up. Soon everyone makes their way downstairs and to the dining table to plunge into a warm, home-cooked meal.

\-----

“No, I’m not doing it. That’s final.” Harry angrily responds, swaying a little to the side.

The adults around the room decide to keep pressing the issue, ignoring his state of wobbliness. Professor McGonagall continues where she left off, “And Mr. Potter, I highly persuade you to think of the precautions and use the Hogwarts safety guards to your advantage. These aren’t the times to be thinking irrationally-”

“Irrationally!?” He repeats incredulously before hiccuping, “You think it’s _rational_ for me, a person wanted dead by a serial killer, to be living in a castle housing over 200 under-aged _children!”_ His voice is getting higher by the minute, “No. I am not doing that anymore. Hogwarts is the one place Voldemort is expecting me to be.” Saying the Dark Lord’s made them shiver, “We need to finally stop allowing ourselves to be manipulated by playing with his chest board. We need our own. Our own pawns. Our own rooks,” He looks them all in the eye, “And our own King. Does a true King sit behind some lousy stone wall and hide in the shadows? No, that is a fearful one that _we_ don’t have time to wait on.”

“Oh, and how would _King_ Potter envision we outplay the enemy?” Moody mercilessly voices in a heavily mocking tone. 

“By doing the unthinkable!” He shouts and then pulls up a finger and points it in Moddy’s face. He shakes it and steps towards him, his eyelid drooping low. 

Some of them stop and stare more deeply at him. But most look doubtful at what he can say on the matter. Remus, who has been silently sitting in the corner, speaks up softly, “And what does that entail Harry? What is unthinkable?” 

Harry turns to his old professor. In all honesty, he doesn’t know exact examples, but he knows how to get them. So he tries his best to answer, “Er, well,” He closes his eyes to give his mind a minute to catch up. The room is starting to turn in circles, at least for him. He opens his eyes and begins, “We need to stop with just defense. That’s our biggest disadvantage. We are always waiting for them to come to us and never the other way around. Each year, he strategically sneaks his way around our defenses. What do we do? We try and fight against that,” He sits higher in his chair, “But what if, we were already prepared. We had two steps in front of him…” He drifts off, “Snape killed Dumbledore. I saw it. That means the Dark Lord has all the ins and outs of the castle and every piece of information every one of you has shared in Snape’s presence. We need something new.”

Harry searches around the room, hoping to find some clarity drawing on their features. Remus, Tonks, and Moody sit at one table. Tonks looks eager to hear him out, but Moody is wholly skeptical. Remus seems open-minded but too timid to speak up against that of McGonagall or Mrs. Weasley. All of them wonder what is happening to him though. 

“ _Did he bump his head too hard on that fall?”_ Remus idly ponders. 

Mrs. Weasley had been adamant about Harry going to Hogwarts for another extra year and for the safety it will bring him. And the help and tutorship that’s there so he can prepare for the war (Hermione and Ron have decided to go for more training and it would complete the triangle if Harry joined). So she had sided with the new headmaster quickly. As a fretting mother usually will, to some of Harry’s knowledge. 

Hermione, shockingly, had agreed with Harry. She had claimed it was his choice and deemed him smart enough to know what he wants to do. His mouth had fallen open and he had stared at her wide-eyed. And he even had the urge to scoop her up in a hug at the moment, but decided to go on with the current argument and respond back to the blustering adults. And thus a fight had broken out. Mrs. Weasley had ordered Ginny, Hermione, and Ron to go to their rooms (the twins had clapped in victory at this until their mother told them that if they wanted to continue living under her roof, they would make themselves scarce as well). Harry had let out a giggle at that and received many odd glances but he didn’t notice.

Harry had put his foot down against any of them trying to force him out as well and said that as an adult he would be here to listen to this through and use his own voice as a contradiction to their plans. This being said with a ridiculous upturn of the nose.

And now, as he looks over the rest of the Aurors present who he has never met before, all whom seem to be silently belittling him, he frowns. He needs someone he knows they respect. He needs another strong voice to back him up. But as he looks around the room, he sees neither of those qualities in any of them. 

“ _Why do all adults think themselves so fitting to make decisions that will heavily impact my life?_ ” Harry sighs, almost too sadly for his taste. And then mumbles, “Need another candy booster.”

Mrs. Weasley picks up the conversation again, “Harry, I know you think you have the right idea of the war, but you are so youn-”

“No. Don’t you dare say I’m too young,” His eyes have gone hard, definitely a little irritable with them and the joined force of the purple candy taking root, “Who has fought Voldemort in person as many times as I? Who has seen death being cast upon them by _his_ wand and escaped it as I have? I mean,” He smiles, but his eyes twinge with a darkness, “Who has dealt with a mad man hunting him down since he was a baby? I might only be seventeen. But I know what it’s like to fight, to think, to see things you would rather never witness... ”

“Mr. Potter! We all know what is best for you. And that is you being at Hogwarts!” Professor McGonagall responds firmly.

“What’s _best_ for me?” He scoffs, “So when I was dumped on my maternal relative’s porch with only a letter,” He drips the last words venomously, “And left for a decade without much of a pop in to see what my life was like, you are telling me that was what’s best for me? That when I stopped being able to wear shorts or short sleeves to school because the teachers would question the scrapes and bruises along my arms and legs, that was what’s best for me?”

“And when sending me to a school that Voldemort would reach me each and every year, _that_ was what was best. I’m sorry if I sound dubious of what you guys think is best for me, but I don’t trust your judgment that much. And quite frankly, I don’t have to stand here and listen to it. I am an adult. And if no one else has a say in the matter,” He looks pointedly at the other adults, daring them to speak up and argue, “I think I shall head out now.”

As he makes his turn to leave, Moody’s grumbled voice breaks out, “Potter! I don’t know what happened to make you lose your manners. But-”

“My manners?!” Harry laughs loudly and it feels like ice, the rush of headache slowly leaving, “This is _my_ life. And if I care for the lives of a bunch of children over mine, that is my decision. Not yours. Not the Headmasters. And definitely not any other adult trying to use the position as my guardian. I have none. They are all dead. So I have the last say in it.”

And he’s gone. Not gracefully, with how much brainpower he has to use to get himself to just open the front door correctly. But that’s the only complication he is met with.

The door to the house closed once again. All the adults are stunned

Everyone seems to be struck silent and not a murmur passes between them. Even the eavesdroppers upstairs have fallen quiet and are looking around each other wondering what is going to happen next. Unlike the adults, they all know why Harry is acting strangely. 

Mcgonnagoll down below, hits the nail though when she thinks to herself, “ _It was as if the boy was completely drunk._ ”

From above, mumbles can be made out lightly from in between the walls. Hermione thinks they must be agreeing on who will go out to search for the runaway. The noise of chairs sliding across floors are next heard. And then soon a fallen silence.

But upstairs, after a few unmoving minutes, Fred suggests something to cheer them up, “How about we go grab the mind-candy and head to Ron’s room. If he comes back, he’ll head up there first.”

Ginny looks over at Hermione, expecting a narrowed gaze or stern response at the comment. But instead, the head girl just bites her lips and nods. 

As they walk up the staircase, they all think of the candy they are about to devour. Few have mouths watering. Most there are just going with it. 

Mind-Candy. A wonderful, stress-relieving, place-disorienting, rainbow swirl of yummy flavored candy. The secret ingredient to the formula? That depends on which color you choose.

Red is made with tobacco, so it does all the same things a cigarette will except it’s fruity like a vape pen in candy form. Orange has your basic weed edible nudged in it. Yellow steps it up a bit to hallucinogens. It’s shrooms in its all-natural glory... that is until you start mixing. 

Green, you have your molly (George is obsessed). Blue is acid. Those can be too much because of the size and flavor if you aren’t careful with your intake. Some of the purebloods at Hogwarts had thought because they were skinny strips that they wouldn’t be as bad as the others. And well... they might have taken too many while the twins weren’t looking. 

Purple is like taking scotch whiskey with a 52.0 percentage of alcohol (this one respectively, is Harry’s favorite. It makes him knock out hard). And then you have your shimmery Pink. This one is never given to the students. Even George will stare at it guiltily from time to time. Salvia. And it isn’t because it's damaging to your health (they all are). 

Salvia is one that is personal to them. Almost too personal. Harry had heard it from Fred one night when he was completely shit faced. He had gone on about a tale of him and George experimenting with drugs and trying out new things. 

And for a time, they loved using salvia. They inhaled it like love or chocolate. They hadn’t at the time discovered how to transform it into candy form, but they did have a bong (passed down from Bill). 

They had a muggle-born friend named Mason. Harry guessed he lived in the area. One day, they got him to smoke with them. 

“ _You should have seen his face Harry,”_ Fred’s eyes are glazed over, lost in another lifetime, “ _It was like the sun came out in him. Mason was always so ragged looking. And his eyes had no joy. But that second, I swear… I saw sparkles Harry… I saw life.”_

He had gone on to inform Harry about the known effects of the drug. But the twins had always overlooked one. Depression. Something they were almost immune to. 

“ _...We never knew what his life was like Harry. I-I had n-no idea,”_ His eyes had started to brim with tears as he spoke of the past memories, “ _And the kid was b-bipolar_ ,” He choked on some upcoming lump in his throat, “ _And at the moment with us, he had been fine...b-but when he went home, his m_ -” He started to shake and his fingers trembled, _“His mom had taken him and...Harry, it had been happening for years. We never knew_!”

Fred had started to hyperventilate and Harry had to kneel by him and rub soothing circles in his back before he could continue.

“ _She had been touching him and s-shit. And_ ,” He looked up at the ceiling and another tear had fallen down his cheek, “ _He went upstairs, and wrote it all in a letter- a f-fucking letter! And he- that night… he never came back_.”

“ _Two weeks, two whole weeks they looked for him. And finally, they found him_ ,” Fred almost looks like he becomes unattached to the story, as if he is hiding how he really feels. His eyes grow hard, “ _Mason shot himself. And some animal came for the remains,”_ But the hold on his emotions crack _, “ We never talked since that night we got high. But we had found his letter in our mailbox the night he disappeared. G-George and I had thought he just ran away_.”

The story goes on, but in short, that’s why they don’t deal with salvia anymore. They have enough leftover from the incident, but no one takes them. Harry has wondered on and on again why they keep them around and not decide to just throw them away. And he perceived that is their way of guilt-tripping themselves...purposely. They don’t want to forget. They want to remember. To see what it does. To be careful. To be more insightful. To learn more about their friends. 

So, hands off the pink.

Most people love the orange ones. Ginny chews it up like a savage cavewoman who hasn't eaten in a week. Almost a perfect resemblance to the Croods family. Hermione keeps to this one because it’s the tamest of the high-effective ones. Harry thought she would only do the red, but she declined it because of the cherry flavor. But besides Harry and his alcohol and George with his ecstasy (he calls it the beans, but everyone else keeps it to molly), all the others love the weed ones.

Charlie loves them when he comes over as well as Fleur in secret (surprisingly Bill does not like drugs in any way). Sirius used to love it when the twins arrived at Grimmauld place so he could get his hands on a handful.

It has been over a year since that last happened. 

Ron likes it, but surprisingly, he doesn’t partake in them that much. Even Hermione surpasses him by a lot. He says he prefers to keep his brain sane in case of emergencies. Harry snorts at this usually, because the reason Harry does it is because of _those_ exact emergencies. 

And about everyone who knows about their under-the-counter candies enjoys the weed.

Well, except old Dumbly. He hopped on the George boat and sailed away in a stream of ecstasy. Harry never got a clear response to this situation. But he could read under the lines. 

Harry has speculated even Snape knew about the business but was too proud of their achievements in making them to turn them in. 

So the twins have a fully running business.

Currently, the twins open their room, and Ginny, Ron, and Hermione follow into the middle of the space. George kneels down to grab the box holding all of it from underneath the bed. After a few seconds of just swiping his arms around to find it, he pulls it out in hurrah. 

They soon make their way up to Ron’s room.

“I hope Harry comes back soon. It isn’t good that he is out there alone.” Hermione says, speaking up on the topic they are all worried about.

Trying to soothe the younger ones Fred answers back, “We have protective charms surrounding the house, he can’t go that far.”

But, you never know. There always seems to be exceptions when it comes to Harry. 

They all settle down and get comfortable. Ginny and Hermione take Harry’s bed since he isn’t there and the three boys sit on Ron’s orange duvet.

They aren’t druggies. Well, not all of them. Ron might take one every few months if that at all. He won’t take one tonight. He will only munch away on the real Honeydukes candy they have. Hermione? Not as rarely. But maybe twice a month and she doesn’t even go full out. She cuts the candy in thirds. 

Fred doesn’t partake anymore, hasn’t in over a year. He just creates the buggers. 

George.

No one besides Fred knows his side of it. But he never passes when asked. So he and Ginny are classified as stoners at the minimum. But most of the time, they do it alone without everyone. But now that it’s summer, school isn’t here to keep them busy.

“What have you been reading lately?” George asks Hermione from across the mirroring beds.

She looks up with bright eyes, “Just some interesting books from the muggle world.” She smiles lopsidedly, “Why do you ask?”

“I was wanting some recommendations. I’m starting to get low on reading options around here.”

She gaps at him.

“You’re making the eel face ‘Mione,” Ron says in between a mouth full of peppermint patties. 

“I-I'm...shocked,” The girl whispers, “I never knew you read George.”

He smiles bemusedly at her, “Of course. I just don’t go screaming it to the rooftops like my dear old brother.”

Ron scowls at the mention of Percy.

Then Fred chuckles at a memory, “Oh Hermione, you should have seen him. Before we joined the Quidditch team he had gone on and on about joining this book club one of the Ravenclaws in our year started. I, personally, would never add myself to the terrifying amount of first years going on and on about books. Obviously I declined and George had followed suit. But boy did he put up a fight on the subject.”

George snorts, “Messed up my chances of a future this one did.” He nods at his twin.

“My condolences George, I feel the utmost remorse for you. I hope you had your fair share of a cry?” Hermione asks with seriousness. 

“I did.” George sadly clarifies.

“And a fair number of bed wettings.” Fred pipes up.

“Yah!” Some light bickering follows. It starts with George throwing a comeback at his brother. And then Ron laughing at the statement. Then it becomes a group of insults. All boys going at each other with childhood memories, secrets that aren't too hidden and the usual passed around slander. Hermione watched fondly as it goes on.

“-so fat, I took a picture of her last Christmas and it’s still printing.”

“Ron! You have the same mother.” Hermione exclaims at that one.

Ron freezes, “Oops, got carried away.”

“Hey, guys.” Everyone turns to Ginny. Finding her looking down and swinging her legs back and forth.

“Yeah Gin?” George speaks up first.

“Um, how about we don’t eat the mind-candy tonight,” She looks up from her shoes, “I-It’s just that I’m still worried about Harry and I don’t feel like messing with the stuff tonight. Maybe we can just watch a movie on that plastic box that Dad bought last week and e-eat snacks?”

They all smile warmly at her. They all get it. Sometimes they get too focused on it to realize they don’t need it every time something inconvenient in their plans happens. 

After a couple of seconds, Fred jumps off Ron’s bed before jumping on her in a tackle, “Ginny, aww, that was so cute. Of course we can. Anything for the baby of the family,” He coos at her and pinches her chubby cheeks, “And in all honesty that sounds way better right now.”

The three others follow suit and join in on the ongoing hug and hum their agreement. 

No need for the extent of the candy when all it takes is some company from friends and a fun thing to keep them occupied. 

“Okay, gerofme.” Ginny laughs from inside the huddle. 

They untangle. And for a bit, they just stand there. A silence forming again until without warning-

“I CALL THE LAYOUT CHAIR!” And Hermione without another moment leaps past them, runs out the door, and starts jumping down the stairs (skipping three steps with each jump). 

The twins, Ginny and Ron look up staring into the face of each other, and then move to race each sibling, shouting over each other's voices all the way down.

“-NO MINE-”

“-IM THE OLDEST-”

“-ONLY BY A MINUTE-”

“-IM THE CUTEST-”

Everyone stops to a halt. They all simultaneously look at Ginny.

Ron speaks for everyone one as he responds with, “That’s debatable,” Before they all continue in a rush to get down to the best seat options.

\-----

Harry makes his way along the edge of the hill. Ten minutes ago he had reached this place after walking straight here from the Weasley home. With the mind-candy wearing off, he had been able to catch up with his thoughts and come out of his brooding (mostly). 

And while his brain unfogged he had noticed the magic forcefield. If he tilts his head a bit and squints his eyes in the right angle, he can see the rays of a shimmer.

The best word for describing to call it would be a cage. An invisible layer of walls. He didn’t dare touch it in case it notified someone or disrupted whatever system it was there for.

So he ignored it and sat down, and is now currently ending his thoughts on what happened back in the kitchen. They want him to go to Hogwarts for his last year and want him to hide from a war that is circled around every aspect of his life. 

“Well fuck that,” And with that said he lays down on the ground.

The grass underneath him is moist with night dew already, but it cools him down and he embraces the wetness hitting his neck and the parts where his shirt rides up in the back. He scootches around until his neck is comfortably aligned with the rest of his body before looking up.

His breath catches in his throat for a prolonged second as he is met with the expansion of the sky. 

Without the lights of the street lamps and buildings overpowering his sight, every star in his view is glowing in uncontrollable billows. They float above him in glittering clusters. 

Harry exhales breathlessly and lifts his arms up, reaching with his fingers to trace and catch the brighter stars. And with awe and dreamlike tension he whispers to them, “Oh how Vango had you wrong. So so wrong. You are no blur of light.” He trails one's orbital fusion with the tip of his middle finger, “ You are marvelous, racing, color provoked novas. You are no vision that is capable of being placed on paper. You are for the skies above and only there do you live”

He swirls his fingers along, making patterns and connecting the suns to each other to create his own constellation. 

If you were to ask him what he thought they were doing up there a million lifetimes away, he would tell you in honest fascination that they are dancing in whirlwinds and laughing in extended splatters. 

Some might think that the candy is still taking effect, but no such thing is happening. It’s plain Harry there. Completely conscious Harry who is gazing at the gallery of stars hanging in the sky in dazzlement. The regular boy, amazed with the wondrous depth of what the galaxy holds.

And somehow as he looks at the great expanse, he is hit with the realism of the chaotic universe he is a part of. It’s not simple. It is not controllable. And it isn’t ideal.

It’s loud, changing, perfectly imperfect, ungraspable, head-aching...and beautiful.

The world is so beautiful.

Harry, feeling all the exuberance he can, closes his eyes and breathes in the darkness surrounding him. He whistles a short tune, before whispering, in low tones, out into the evening winds a poem he had once read.

“ _Do not go gentle into that good night,_

_Old age should burn and rave at close of day;_

_Rage, rage against the dying of the light…”_

He opens his eyes. Speaking those few words out into the world even if no one was there to hear, in a way, start to tear at his defenses.

He keeps going on with the poem, barely stumbling on words. Once he reaches the last stanza, he brings his fingertips to the part of the skin where his eyelashes lay and wipes away a huddled form of tears. 

With an uncontained wobble in his voice, he recites the last few words once more, “ _Rage, Rage against the dying of the light.”_

For a long time, he lays there basking in the silence. But eventually, he moves, reaching into his pocket for another candy. Just one more. One to help drift himself off to sleep. Only one to calm himself in the oblivion of dreams.

He fiddles through his pocket before his fingers clasp around one and he pulls it out. 

And maybe, just maybe, if he hadn’t been in a rush, if he had paid attention and it wasn’t quite as dark out as it is, he would have seen the candy he was holding. Harry would have seen the different wrapping and colors of the taffy-like sweet. 

But at last, he didn’t.

He immediately throws it into his mouth after unwrapping it and starts to chew it down. After a few more seconds, he swallows it in a large gulp.

And it only takes about five seconds until everything around him is spinning in speed inducing circles. Harry shakes his head trying to sit up, thinking that will help. His head starts to throttle.

“Ahhh, what’s with my head!? It huuuurts.” He whines loudly as he starts to aggressively massage at his throbbing temples. 

The pain starts to burst like piercing needles through his head. And his body not being able to take the torment any longer, shuts down and he faints back into the grass. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I learn more about drugs through the public school system than I do about real life problems...like taxes, mortgage bills, being attacked on the streets, etc.  
> \------  
> FYI  
> For characters in Slytherin (past and present) I want to keep to their personalities and be realistic with them. So when I write them in later, don't expect rainbows and unicorns.
> 
> But that also goes for every house, because no house is perfect. And that's kinda what this fic is about. It's more on how prejudices can be destroyed and differences can be a benefit, not a handicap. 
> 
> Anyways, take care Oranges!  
> -Miss Orange


	3. Let’s Go Back For Just A Minute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Books are a portable kind of time travel. We go back as well as forward when we read them. When we come back into the now, after being immersed in worlds previously unknown to us, we find ourselves transformed. Touched by their magic, nothing we ever perceived beforehand remains quite the same. -Suzy Davies

Dimensions. A new journey for every new decision made throughout a life. Do you go up, down, left, or right? Do you stop, continue, reverse? If you were given the chance to rewrite it all, what would you imagine. What paradox would resonate deep within you to the point of changing every aspect of your existence? 

[August 16, 1944]

The first thing Harry feels, as consciousness comes back to him, is the smoothness of grass tickling his fingers. They are soft touches against his solid form. Next the rush of wind fluttering across his face, blowing the brown tufts of hair away from his forehead. It’s a gust of warm afternoon air. The kind he had felt earlier out on the swing bench. The brightness hitting his closed eyes makes him dizzy and he squeezes his eyes tighter in discomfort. Before rolling his head to the side to angle his sight away from the glaring sun. He cracks his eyelids open just a sliver and then closes them immediately. After a few prolonged moments he tries again. And slowly, after shutting and closing his eyes back and forth, he gets them to stay open long enough while permitting the light being reflected in.

As he blinks, he takes in the green around him. Green and then hurds and hurds of pinks, purples, and yellowish oranges. Wherever he is it isn’t anywhere near the Weasley’s home. It’s a picture torn out of a book. If it were any other place, Harry would be freaking out beyond reason. But as he takes in the lovely landscape around him he only feels the pleasure of being somewhere so beautiful. Somewhere peaceful. Lively with nature.

Stumbling quite a bit, Harry tries to stand up from his sitting position. His muscles ache and his mind feels groggy. At the higher level, he turns around to try and see if he can make out anything near him. And as he looks to his left, he sees a little cottage. Nothing grande, but definitely a home. Smoke is floating out of the chimney meaning it is currently occupied.

He knows he should be cautious, but he almost feels unexplainable ease at being here. Maybe it's the flowers. So instead of hiding and observing what the people who own the home are like, he walks towards it. He trips over some roots as he makes his way down the little hill. But after a couple steps he finds a little trail and uses that to make his way down easily. 

When he is half way down the slope, he hears a voice. Something soft and delicate. Harry moves his head in the direction of the noise. The bushes are far too grown and he can’t look past them to see who it is. But as he walks farther down the path and winds around the clump of bushes, he can make it out more clearly. They are singing. It’s a small idle tune. Almost like they are humming along words as they go. At first, Harry thinks it’s a woman for singing so lightly. But as each step brings him closer and closer to the source, he picks up on the tone. 

_ That is definitely a male. _ And Harry is even more intrigued. 

Water is heard then. It trickles down a little fountain and into a little pond. Harry walks over a little man-made bridge that is atop of the water. Harry takes a peak at the fresh cool blue beneath. Little orange fish swim in shapes throughout it. 

“ _ And the little fairy flew away away away- _ ”

Harry tilts his head up and trots over. The flowers become thicker and more abundant as he comes to the end of the path. He looks around. It’s a little alcove in between a boulder and trees. Flowers are growing all around the surfaces. There's a small wooden bench, painted white, at the very back where ivy hangs down from the stones above. And on the bench a boy lays. He wears a hat on his face, covering his eyes. Harry wonders why since the boy is already covered by shade. 

“- _And how_ _I missed her so, every dream she relinquished. Every spirit she left uncontrolled-”_

Harry stood still, basking in every new aspect of the place. The sound of birds chirping as if they were dueting the soft melody from the other sprawled across the bench. The smell of many fragrances drifting around. The touch of earth living and breathing all around them. 

“Why do you stand there? The largliels will nest in your head soon without anything protecting that wild hair of yours you know.”

Harry jumps at the question. His eyes had drifted around and had forgotten to announce his presence. And now  _ he _ was the one spooked even though he was technically the intruder. He stares across at the boy in front of him. The first thing he notices about him is the prominent freckles layered across his nose and cheeks and then the fairness of his blonde hair. It stands stark against his dark brown hat. He doesn’t even seem to be fearful of him randomly showing up at what is presumably his back garden. 

“U-Uh,” Why does he have to stutter? He thinks painfully, “I h-heard you singing.” He gives as an explanation.

“Mm, okay,” The boy reaches down and picks up a book from the floor. Harry notices a flower laying in the pages. It looks to be a bookmark of sorts. The stranger closes it and puts in under his armpit before standing. “Want some tea? Mother put a kettle on just a bit ago.”

Harry’s eyes widen, “Y-You don’t want to know who I am?”

“Well. I think you are a wizard, because you have to be to be one to be able to enter our farm,” He looks Harry up and down, “You could be a Daerdym as well, but those are very rare.”

Harry raises his eyebrows at that. The boy seems so familiar. Almost as if he-

“Are you a Lovegood!?” Harry bursts out the question.

“Well of course. Didn’t you read the sign?” The boy turns away and starts to make his way across the bridge. He whistles a small song and soon a little robin is joining in. The other giggles and continues to sing with the animal.

“W-What sign?” Harry mumbles to himself.

“Well, are you coming, mystery boy?” Harry looks up to see the other looking back at him diligently. 

Harry doesn’t think it over but decides spurred by his curiosity to go with him and see where he is exactly. After all, he needs some answers. All he remembers is taking some of the usual candy, laying out in the Weasley’s field and then waking up to this place. 

Is he in a dream? Are the Weasley twins joking with him?

But deciding not to worry too deeply on the big questions, he settles for the more odd ones. Like, who's this kid?

“What’s your name?” Harry asks following after him.

“My name?” The boy looks thoughtful, “The one I call myself or what has been given to me?”

“Both?” Harry definitely thinks there is something different about this boy. Nothing bad. But odd. That’s all he has on him. He’s odd… and has a very pretty voice. 

“Well at birth, I was given the title of Florin. Florin Bleu Lovegood. But as for the name I call myself… that’s a secret between me and the trees.” He smiles in good humor up at Harry before continuing his pace along the trail. 

Harry deems him an okay guy as far as he can tell. Someone good natured. A sweet personality. But definitely definitely odd. 

“Your parents won’t mind the intrusion?” Harry inquires as they step around the house and onto the steps of the porch. 

“Why of course not. We are reasonable people. Plus you must have some intriguing story to tell if you winded up in these desolate fields.” Florin responds with a warm smile. Harry looks at the boy pleasantly. He notices the boy’s teeth are a bit crooked, but something about them feels welcoming.

So Harry smiles and enters the house with his new acquaintance. As he walks into the forway, the first thing he is drawn to is the comparison Hogwarts has to the walls here. It’s covered in picture frames from the bottom of the wall until the very top where they meet the ceiling. And then even the ceiling is covered in items varying in size. It’s a grand room with much space, probably at least 20 feet. This meaning there must be an enlarging spell like that of the tents Mr. Weasley had used at the tournament. Because he had thought this place something petit from the outside but it's practically the size of a manor. 

But all the same, it’s homey. Different then the ramshackled state of the Weasley’s with its unique flare of weird objects lingering around. Antiques if you were being genuine. Harry looks over at Florin wondering where they will go next. Florin, who had been taking off his shoes, leans back up and without looking at Harry, heads off down the hall. Harry follows close on his heels. They pass many doors. Some are made of wood while others are painted to all different ranges of color. Harry’s favorite is the forest green one they pass with gold patterns painted on across it. There are three gleaming locks on it.

A dog runs past them as they walk into an even grander room with beams of sunlight flowing through. The brown shaggy animal doesn’t pay attention or show any slight interest in the newcomer. He instead wags his tail and flounces off. Florin walks comfortably throughout the room until he comes to the couches and armchairs littering a corner. Harry pauses next to him.

“This is the common room,” Florin tells him, “Take a seat. I’ll find mother and fetch you some tea.” 

Harry nods and looks around in awe. He had thought that because the room was in the middle of the house it would be surrounded by walls. But instead, there are big immense windows encircling it in entirety. It is like the ceiling above the Great Hall at Hogwarts, but instead of seeing the starry sky, you look upon the outside gardens.

Harry is still gazing out of them when Florin comes back with a tray of tea, crackers, and cut up apples, “Mother and I are very fond of flowers and all the green of nature, so we charmed it to show while we were in here.” He moves around until he sets the tray on the small coffee table in the middle of the surrounding chairs.

“It is extraordinary. I have seen something a bit like it, but not as vivid or as lovely as this. I basically can see every detail as if it were truly there.” Harry looks at the other with wonder and notices the blush lingering Florin’s cheeks. He looks happy at what Harry had said, “D-Did  _ you _ charm it?” 

Florin looks only humbled at being asked, “Yes. I discovered charms through old books and tweaked them a bit into this new enchantment.”

“That is amazing Florin! It must have takens ages and if not you are a genius for figuring something out like that quickly.”

“Oh, no, no. It did take a while, but I love charms more than anything. So I happily went about it and it feels like it lasted shorter than it realistically did.” The boy smiles amicably and his eyes turn into little crescents. 

“Ah, well, it is a wonderful charm.” Harry sits down on the couch and Florin takes a seat at the other side of it as well. They both take a hold of their mugs and Harry brings it to his face to inhale the smell and the warmth. 

Smells like real herbs and something woody. Like the blend of trees. Harry takes a tentative sip and sighs achingly at the drowsy blend of a yummy brew. The perfect concoction for the day. Something to settle his nerves. Humorously, he thinks over the idea of drinking this instead of taking the candies he usually takes if it makes him feel at peace as much as it is making him after one taste. 

“What's your name? So far you are something of an anonymity to me” 

Harry looks up at Florin before chuckling and replying back with, “I forgot you don’t know yet. My name is Harry P-” This could be an enemy, he shouldn’t give his last name yet without real knowledge on the matter.  _ But wouldn’t he have recognized me already? Strange. It’s as if he has no idea of who I am… or he plainly has no care and is only asking me my name out of politeness, _ “Harry. Just Harry.”

“Ah, what a simple name, how I envy you.” Florin musedly sighs.

Harry never minded his name. He did agree that it was quite simplistic and had always liked the idea of fun nicknames, but at the same time it was one thing he had gotten from his parents. To hear that Florin not only liked it, but envied it, made him feel warm on the insides. Ah, how glad he is that he can compare Florin with something familiar to him. 

So Harry goes with, “T-Thanks Florin.”

Florin beams at him. Harry looks away at the brightnest of it. It makes him feel so lightheaded. It is quite a distinct contrast to the weak smiles he is surrounded by of late. Even with all the jokes Fred, George, and Ginny whip out, it’s never truly enough to fully laugh. Because at the end of the day… people are still dying and cold with fear of losing their loved ones any second.

There is something about this boy that speaks volumes about a candid air to him. Something honest and almost refreshingly displayed about him. He doesn’t have the aura of composure or blockage for one to see into his thinkings or feelings of a matter. Most people hide themselves and tread lightly. Because if not, something grave could happen. But Florin seems unbothered. Maybe he doesn’t fear war and all its ugliness. Or maybe he likes to be ignorant… like the ministry.

Harry’s adrenaline rushes at that.  _ Are his parents ministry workers?  _ Harry gulps.

“S-So where are your parents?” Harry weakly mumbles. The twisting of the mug in his hands, shows off how nervous the subject is to him. If Florin notices, he doesn't give entail to his ponderings of it.

“Oh, well. My mother is working in the front gardens and Father is up in his study.” Florin bites into an apple slice and it entices Harry to do the same. His stomach must agree with the action because it grumbles as soon as he looks over the fruit.

The other eyes his stomach and giggles, “You must have been hungry. The warlends in you are making noises.”

The speech reminds him so much of Luna it makes him smile tenderly at Florin. Harry doesn’t even ask what ‘warlends’ are and instead nods with full agreement and takes a big bite of apple.

“Ah, I see you are well versed in the knowledge of the warfarlen groups.” Florin eyes him respectably.

Harry blushes just a tinge, “Well no completely. But I have heard from a friend about certain… creatures who tend to live in me and do odd things every now and then.”

Florin looks at him and gives another shake of his head in understanding, “They seem intelligent. I would hope to meet them some day.”

Harry stares for a second before looking out the windows in front of him. A butterfly with big blue wings has landed on a bloomed white chrysanthemum, “I believe you would like her very much.”

He sighs to himself. He hasn’t seen Luna in a couple months, but it feels longer. Feels terribly lonesome to not have heard much news on how she is doing these past weeks away from the school. 

It makes him want to go back to the Weasley’s and apologize for his brash behavior. He will then have to tell them about his intoxication at the time. That won’t go as swell, but at least he will be able to see them again and make up. Harry is still adamantly against going to Hogwarts, but he will be able to hold in his anger more and talk it out like the adult he is.

That brings him back to the problem at hand. And Harry knows he needs to figure it out sooner rather than later, “Um, Florin. Where are we?”

“In the common room of course,” Florin hums around a big gulp of his tea. Now empty, he sets it down on the tray. 

Harry almost rolls his eyes, “I meant where as in what part of the country,” He pauses, “Or world more like.”

Florin doesn’t give him a funny look for asking such a question, but instead laughs a clear bell-sounding laugh, full of chimes, “Harry, we are in beautiful Britain. Why, for more specifics we are outside the nimble little town of Ottery St. Catchpole.”

Harry’s eyes widened intensely.  _ That’s where the burrow is located! But that can’t be. There was never a place as beautiful as this located anywhere near the burrow.  _ He would have remembered if so, for he had always loved nature ever since Aunt Petunia had forced him into the garden at the tender age of five. 

“That can’t be possible,” He mutters to himself completely confused. An idea pops in his head, “Do you by any chance know the whereabouts of the burrow?”

Florin raises a brow at the question, “The Burrow? The one with the little couple and their son?”

Harry is positively floored by this, “One son? Only one, you are sure?”

“Well yes. His name is Arthur, quite a silly little thing. But he does seem to like the flowers mother gives them from time to time.”

Harry’s heart sinks a bit, _ it can’t be possible. But that is quite a lot of coincidences.  _ First, the burrow had been located near the Lovegoods. It was outside Ottery. A-And well the last is obvious. Arthur.

Maybe this is all a trick. _It has to be._ _The twins have really done an outstanding job_ , Harry blithely surmises. “Are you a cousin to Luna by any chance?” _Unless I took too much where I went black out drunk and landed myself in the Lovegood’s garden by myself._

“Luna?” Florin closes his eyes before snapping them open in his direction, “Not that I know of. I believe, to the best of my knowledge, that father, mother, and I are the last of the Lovegoods.” 

Harry fumbles to ask anything else. But nothing is coming to mind of what to ask. A blank sheet. He is utterly confused. One minute he is laying on the hill by the borrow and next he wakes up on this random hi-

_ THIS CAN NOT BE HAPPENING! Was that the same hill? Is he where he was? How is that possible? Nothing makes sense. Oww, this really hurts my head thinking about it. Where am I!? _

Florin doesn’t notice the inner turmoil Harry is going through, because he gets up with the tray in his hands and starts to walk away from Harry, “Come on Harry, I’ll show you the kitchen and if you are still hungry you can grab something to eat.”

Harry unmindely follows, too lost to pay attention to anything else. They soon enough walk into a lively kitchen. It’s nothing big like the rest of the house, just something quaint with all the regular necessities. To Harry it reminds him of everything opposite of the Durseys. Nothing shiny and squeaky clean, but still sanitary. Not bare and organized but with its own homey charm. And no air of “break a cup and you get locked up” but instead there are probably a bunch of bandaids stored in the cupboard should a situation arise. It’s not like the Weasley’s either. It isn’t loud or brash. It’s… calm. Inviting and warm, just like the gardens surrounding them. It's the type of kitchen he had always wanted to be a part of with his mom and dad. Where he would rest against the counter after a long day of quidditch. Or where he would sit down at the dining table with them and talk about this and that. Where the drift of homemade cookies would drift softly through the entire home.

So Harry leans against the side of the wall. And he breaths it all in. Every detail about. Like if another reality or dimension… this could have been his home. As he is examining every object in the room, his eyes fall upon a stack of papers. They lay upon the counter as if they were dropped there after one peak of the front page. As if the contents didn’t matter anyway. But to Harry something like a heart attack takes place. Because in big, bold, black font the date is typed across the newspaper widely. And Harry is lost in a sea of doubt. 

**August 16 1944**

This really must be the most thought out joke Fred and George have ever put this much effort into… or something very  _ very  _ wrong happened.

“Hary are you okay?” Florin who had been rinsing the mugs now eyes him with concern.

“F-Florin?” Harry’s eyes are closed and his face pale with sweat.

“Yes?”

“What day is it? And please don’t joke with me. Tell me the truth.” Harry’s voice wavers and Florin takes a small step toward him.

“It’s Tuesday- No, that was yesterday, it’s wednesday today.”  _ That lines up with his memory so far. It was Tuesday when he had been at the burrow last. _

“No, I meant. The date. What’s the date?” He opens his eyes and Florin sees what resembles terror resonating in the pools of green.

“August sixteenth. Harry, are you sure you are fine? You look nauseous, maybe you should take a seat. I’ll grab you some cold water.” Florin turns to do just that, but Harry takes hold of the sleeve of his shirt.

“H-How?” Florin looks at him and is surprised by the heart-broken expression sitting across his features.  _ What is worrying the other so much? _

“How what?”

“Florin… I know you might find this odd, but do you know anyone by the name of… Voldemort?” Harry waits for a reaction of fear and a gasp at the name. He watches for a sign of recognition.

But nothing changes from other besides that of raised brow and another question instead of an answer, “Who now?”

Harry shakes his head. He raises his arm to put his hand to the wall to steady himself. His vision goes in and out of shades. It starts with a bleary red and sinks into a dark mesh of violet and blue. And in a few seconds it flickers to black. 

Harry Potter crumbles to the floor. 

Who hasn’t heard of Voldemort? Not a soul can hear that name whispered without shuddering besides himself. Dumbledore could as well but now since he is gone, it leaves just Harry. But somehow this boy, the strange odd boy who lives where the Weasley’s live and hasn’t heard smeck of the seven siblings. A boy who sings with the birds and yet proclaims the date as being in the year of 1944. A wizard who produces strong charms that bring beauty to the inside of a home and yet doesn’t even grasp the urgency of hearing Voldemort being said. 

No fear enters those big wide blue eyes. Still just as deep and mystical as before.

Hary only follows out of consciousness for mere seconds. Soon enough he is already steadying himself and rising back up to a standing position with the help of his new friend. 

Harry gives him a glum smile and pats his shoulder reassuringly, “I’m sorry Florin, I’m being quite the bother aren’t I?” 

“Not at all, Harry!” Florin leads him to the dining table across from the kitchen, “Here, sit down and tell me what’s worrying you so.”

“O-Okay. Thank you.” Harry glides into the squishy chair and sighs. He’s been sighing a lot today. Must be something in the air. Harry shakes his head to get rid of the thoughts so he can get to business. 

“Florin, I don't want to scare you or make myself look like an idiot, but there is no other way to tell you this… It is definitely not 1944, it is 1997!” He yells the last part. He never was one to hold something in or go about a matter lightly. 

Florin just nods and smiles and Harry looks at him flabbergasted with the neutral expression, “Didn't you hear me?” His voice cracks a tiny bit

“Well Harry. I don’t understand how you suppose that, but somehow in some time it is 1997. Maybe you count your years differently, but to everyone else, they would have to disagree and tell you it is most certainly 1944.” The boy smiles and Harry is left feeling misunderstood.

“No, no. I mean that it can not possibly be 1944. It has already passed the 40’s decade. And the 50s, 60s, 70s, 80s, and we are  _ now _ in the 90s!” Florin blinks and Harry is left gaping.

“Did you hit your head when you fell down?” 

Harry wearily looks at his companion and miserably murmurs, “No, I did not hit my head.”

“What makes you think it is 1997- wow, what a year! I will be old and gray when that day comes. But it shall be fun, I suppose, in a wise way.”

Harry inhales slowly so as not to go crazy with what is happening. He gazes around the room and makes note of everything he can detain of the situation. There is a boy, by the name of Florin, who has evidence of a newspaper clarifying that it is not 1997. He is a home that lies by the hill he had fallen asleep on and before when he was awake, it had not been there. There is no knowledge of the family he had been just with a few hours ago. And… FLorin does not know who Harry or Voldemort are. 

The brunette sinks his forehead onto the table and brings his arms up to lay upon his head.  _ If _ what he is thinking is true… then he is in deep deep trouble. 

Blearily he wonders if it is truly possible. He had no time-turner and he definitely didn’t spill a potion or anyth-

_ HOLY FUCK _

Registering in his mind, he grapples for what he could have taken. He had only eaten another candy.  _ Only… the usual. _ But as soon as he had, everything had gone haywire. The memories start to trickle back in. There was pain. The something piercing had struck through his nerves, shattering his mind in broken pieces. Harry remembers not being able to soothe the spontaneous agony and then falling. He had fallen quickly after the immediate affliction and then everything goes… blank. 

He can not recall anything else. Harry draws himself up and stares ahead. He locks eyes with Florin. Florin is frowning and titles his head in question of his behavior. 

Somehow in the euphoria of being comfortable looking at the stars he had lost himself in the harmony and irrationally ate something- something definitely not supposed to be eaten. Because if he hadn’t, he would still be laying on that grass covered hill. Harry would have woken up in the morning dew and walked down to the Weasley’s home. And he would have been met by the warm family with love and everything would have gotten better. He would have made things right again.

This time when Harry faints, he is knocked out for more than an hour.

  
  


[1997]

A shudder glazes over the world in a second. It glimmers through the midnight fog. Britain covered in the sleep of the night are unbothered by the rippling field of magic expanding through the air, except very very few. Those with stronger ties, stronger emotions, and more memories are the ones left shaking in their sheets.

  
  


Hermione wakes up suddenly in a lurch with a small word dying of her lips from a dream, “HARRY!”

Ginny rustles with the blankets besides her, “‘Mione sshhh!”

Hermione looks around the dark room.  _ What a weird dream.  _ She heaves out of breath.  _ It had been so… real. B-But who was this… Harry boy though?  _ She racks her brain, but nothing comes to her. Too fatigued with the day and hours of sleep weighing on her, she succumbs herself to the lols of rest once more. Harry rolls her lips in mumbles once again. She falls into another vivid dream of tales with dragons, snakes, and some person too cruel to name.

  
  


Ron flinches and rolls to his side trembling.  _ What an awful, awful dream.  _ He looks at the vacant pillow to his left. And somehow he feels like something is missing. The redhead blankly stares for a few seconds, while something pulls inside his head. It’s like an echo of a voice calling to him. Ron tries to listen once more to the sound.  _ It sounds so familiar.  _ But as he listens t the voice not one face comes to mind. He reaches his hand out to grab the invisible force. It’s liek his body is calling to it as well. His hand falls on nothing and htis the sheets. He stares at the empty space by him before blaming it all on sleep. He shuts out the weird feeling and falls back to sleep with a snore.

  
  


“George, George, wake up. I don’t know what, but I feel really weird about something.” 

George looks at his twin with agitation at being woken, “Mmm.” And he falls into his pillow once more.

Fred itches his arm in discomfort. Something green flashes in his mind.  _ Green eyes. _ But as he tries harder to keep the memory of the eyes present, it disappears more. And slowly before he can think about it again, it fades. Fred does not go to sleep again that night. Something in his consciousness weighing him down.

  
  


Thousands of miles away, Draco screams himself awake. Something with boiling hatred clenches at his heart. Flicking on the lamp with his wand, he looks down at his arms in sweat. Blank, pale arms gleam back at him. 

_ Was that his imagination? Because it had felt so despairingly real.  _

“D-Dobby.” He whispers in fear.

“Master Draco is callings Dobby sir!” The elf speaks as he pops in.

“C-Can you get some potion for dreamless sleep please. It should be in my cabinet.”

“Right away, sir!” The elf pops once more by his bedside with the potion in hand. Draco hurriedly drains it in a big gulp, “Thank you, Dobby. You can go now.” 

“Thanks you, Master Draco!”

Draco is left with the silence of his room. He shivers in his silken sheets. It takes a while for him to fall asleep, but soon he does. And even though he took the potion, the next morning he still wakes with the burning image of a boy chasing after a snitch.

  
  


Lupin throws up in his little bathroom in turmoil. Molly cries over the feeling the loss of a child of hers, an emotion left over from a horrid nightmare. Dumbledore swivels in his seat and stares at Fawkes, the twinkle of his eyes losing some spark. Petunia hastily runs to her son’s room and then fondly makes her way back to bed after seeing the peace of Dudley sleeping undisturbed. Many others wake, but as each one tries to figure out why the feelings are arising, not one can make out where it is coming from.

  
  


[1944]

Harry groans as he opens his eyes. He twists around where he lays. As he blinks into reality, he observes his bearings. He’s in a bedroom and currently laying in a large bed with big blankets around him. They are warm from his body heat and he can already feel moisture dripping down his neck. 

He looks farther around the room and looks at the big green drapes pulled across a window making it dark in the room. There are bookshelves in many shapes surrounding the walls. They all have books shoved in where space allows them. In the little corner nook, there is a writing desk with two chairs. When Harry turns fully to his right, he gazes upon Florin. 

The boy must have fallen into a nap while he was asleep. There is a book laying upon his chest like he was mid read when he dozed off. Glasses hang loose off the bridge of his nose. Tufts of his blond hair fall loosely on his face making his small freckles seem even more prominent. The wizard has his legs bent up on the squishy armchair and his arms curl babishly into his chest.

_ Utter tranquility. _

How jealous Harry is. To not be plagued with the torture a mind can create based off deadly memories. 

Harry stares for a couple minutes, allowing himself the pleasure of staring upon a graceful face. May it be peculiar, yet Harry feels at peace watching someone be so calm. It’s a miracle to him. The rise and fall of a human being’s lungs. Knowing they are functioning perfectly;y normal without any thought or continuous urge to keep them going. The fluttering of the eyelids as the dream softly of this and that. The mumbles and noises slipped up as they rest.

Harry never noticed it before. In the dormitory, they all had their curtains up to shield themselves. And snores were the loudest thing to make out. And even if he could see them, it wouldn’t be the comfortable sleep he is seeing presently. 

Harry frowns slightly at  _ why  _ that is.  _ Voldemort hasn’t messed up the kid’s life yet. _

Nor his parents. Friends. Anyone. They are all safe.

_ For now.  _ Harry gulps down a lump.  _ What is Voldemort even doing of late? _ Harry tries calculating it. He had seen the pensive memories of when he was a kid and guessing by certain events and their timeline… Tom Riddle should be about his age now.

_ His age? T-That means he might already be forming plots against the muggles. _

Harry is not only going to have to deal with the shitty accident of ending up in the past but he is also now in Tom Riddle’s era? Is he twelve or is he sixteen? Maybe twenty and already lost to the void of true evil.

He is brought out of his ponderings by the awakened blonde, “Harry, are you f-f” He yawns, “Feeling better?” Harry thinks he resembles a puppy the way he wakes up. Already forgetting his earlier thought he smiles widely at Florin.

“Yes, it must have been quite sleepy.”

Florin nods, accepting the lazy answer.

“Hey Florin, how old are you?” It’s something the brunette was never certain with. He could be of any age. He seems so young, but now that Harry really thinks about it, he is just… innocent seeming. Something younger people usually relate to. But something he does as well. So now Harry is curious for an answer.

“Fifteen, turning sixteen in four months.” Harry himself just turned seventeen this summer. 

“So you’re going to be a fifth year?” He asks conversationally.

“Yes, I get to enjoy the excitement of the upcoming OWLS.” Florin rolls his eyes in mock.

“Are you particularly nervous for any of them? I know that potions was something I didn’t do very well in… sadley.”

“I would have to say, hmm, Divination and History of Magic will be the absolute worst.” He hums, agreeing with his own analysis. 

Harry raises both eyebrows in shock, “Really?” Luna had done exceptionally well in Divination. They aren’t the same person, but still. Florin just seemed the type…

“Yea, my mom was pretty surprised with the Divination. She is really immersed in it, I think it’s silly. Not because it doesn't happen but because I don’t care to hear the future and all its qualms. I want to live now, the present. And for History of Magic...eh, nah. I think the professor is pretty funny though!”

Harry chuckles amusedly, “And your favorites?”

“Charms!” Adoration pillows into his eyes in bursting sparks. Harry is amazed by the complete transparency of emotions being cast through them. Real love for the subject.

“That is a fun class to be a part of, especially when dueling contests take place.” Harry adds to the rush of the boy’s animation.

“What’s your favorite subject,” Harry is about to answer when Florin speaks quickly again, “Wait, are you even in school Harry?” Big open eyes stare happily at him. 

Harry’s heartbeat raises. Panic starts to set in. School? Should he be honest with this kid? Does he tell him? That would never be a good idea… now. Harry barely knows the kid!  _ Er, not kid, teenager.  _ But what would be the cover story then? He has no family anywhere- 

_ Family! _

There is a whole family of Potters still! Harry bolts out of bed, making the other drawback in surprise at the sudden movement.

Harry laughs. He closes his eyes in yearning. Then he makes a little jump of happiness before running to Florin’s side, “Family Florin! I have Family!”

Florin doesn’t completely understand what is happening to the newcomer, but he does like that he is joyous over something, so he smiles, “Y-Yea, Harry.”

Harry giggles while his mind races. His mom and dad aren’t around, but he has to have grandparents or some great uncle and aunt! And if he could find them, he would get into contact with them and settle problems out! Harry will inform them about him being from the future and that Volde-

_ Does he tell them that piece of information?  _ Harry stops. Shrugging, he decides to worry about that later and give in to the thrill of even imaging the possibility of being able to meet real blood relatives who are also wizards and witches.

Harry looks at Florin again with a dazzling smile and Florin beams back up at him. The brunette briskly walks back towards him and jumps up on the big canopy bed. 

“So Florin, where do you go to school?” Harry feels the need to just now, something to mumble. Just to speak with no thoughts. Something to pass time. For his mouth to run on, trying to catch up with his brain on all matters..

“Hogwarts. But I almost went to Beauxbatons. I’m glad though, because Madam Pince is at Hogwarts and she is wonderful! And I don’t know what I would do without a friend like her.” He seems fond of the subject if the curve of his lips mean anything.

“Isn’t she a part of the staff?” Harry mindedly inquires.  _ Maybe she isn't yet. _

“In a way I suppose, but only as an assistant so far. But golly does she have knowledge on books.”  _ Harry fears he might have met another Hermione, he loves her, but still. He was never the book type. And Florin does look like he will meet the criteria. _

Wanting to satisfy his nerves so he knows if Florin is either truly lost to the nerds or is going to be somewhat relatable to, Harry asks the most important question in this dire conversation, “Have you ever read,” He leans in before whispering, “Hogwarts: A History?” 

The blonde tilts his head up and laughs loudly, “O-Of course not!” He looks at Harry with mirth, “I can not handle anything that terribly boring. I mean, you basically can ask any of the teachers your questions without needing that old book.”

The brunette is very happy with the outcome of the answer. He could not have worded it better. He shoots the younger a thumbs up.

Yes, books are mighty helpful when you have assignments due or in a sudden crisis of battling a madman and you need quick wits that only come from answers in a book chapter in. But, when it comes to pleasure, ehh, Harry rather go out and experience it first hand. Why read about quidditch when you can zoom away on your own broom. You can feel the salt of the air soaking around your skin. You will be able to taste the freshness of the trees below you. And the sight will implore you to new sensations all together. You will see a million colors combining into the hues of the sunsets and sunrises. Blasts of orange, pink, and purple will melt your vision in splattered deception.

Sometimes you will even find yourself lost in the mix of wonderful splendid colors and then in the next moment you're chasing after the streak of gold twinkling in your peripheral sight. It’s not something you can make real if you are stuck in the darkness of a room with only a lamp to light up your worn pages. No word that can describe the freedom of being hundreds of feet up in the chill of the sky. Where you have to think in a millisecond and have to hold in your hesitation. It makes you brave. It's a newness nothing can take away. A concussion of merriment and nerve racking clarity swirled into one ball of enormed emotion. It’s a pull and toss of feelings. It is a compass to the spiral of uncontrol in one’s game of life. 

Harry after a while floats out of his musing and finds Florin peacefully waiting for him to say something more. Maybe Harry was wrong. Maybe Florin isn’t the odd one, it might be Harry who is.

He was always parted from everyone else. Not the norm for teenagers. Some loved him earnestly for it and others rebuked him bluntly.

They either snear or smile. Giggle or insult. But most just follow a crowd. Only a few really stood up. Harry’s mood declines just a bit. 

Florin notices the high of excitement decreasing and begins his own questioning, “Where do you go to school then Harry”

The brunette blinks at the other.  _ Shiiit. _

He still has one year. Before, in the other time line-  _ ehh, that’s a weird though. Two timelines to think of-  _ he didn’t want to go back because it was dangerous to others. But if he goes back now, nothing out of the ordinary would happen.  _ Unless you change events that determine the entire future of everyone… _ Plus, maybe he could help people. He laughs to himself, Draco Malfoy would not be there either. It might even be the best school year of his life.

But there’s one question. How would he get in? 

_ Dumbledore isn’t even the Headmaster currently. It’s that snippy guy from the portrait. And he doesn’t have a concrete back story yet that won’t make people throw him in an insane asylum. He needs to find his family first. How long until school starts? About two weeks? Yea. Okay. Two weeks he has to do everything he can to get into the school. And maybe, even if it's a small possibility, he can try and save a few souls wandering the grounds of the boarding home and school. Who knows, maybe lil Tommy boy is still lost there himself. _

_ This is really going to Fuck things up… for better or for worse depending on who. _

“Harry?” The blonde asks timidly, never getting a response.

Harry startles a bit before glancing at Florin, “Hey. I know we just met, but could I stay here for tonight. I don’t really have anywhere else to go…”

Florin’s eyes sparkle, “You wouldn’t mind staying here?”

“Would I mind?” Harry chuckles, “Do you mind? I rather not be in the way if you and your family have plans or are busy.”

“No problem at all Harry! Stay as long as you need. I’ll inform Mom to add another dish to supper. Father won’t even notice, so no biggie!” FLorin stands from his seat, setting the leather bound book on the side night stand.

“Wow, Thankyou so much Florin. You don't know how glad I am that I ran into you.”

“Come on, I’ll show you my room and we can grab a few things for you. You’ll definitely need some sleepwear. And a toothbrush.”

Harry beams, thanks Merlin for the safe keeping, and follows after the younger blonde. They come to a door in the hallway. There’s a meadow painted on it. And throughout the green grass, there are patches and patches of yellow, red, and blue flowers blooming. In black cursive a word is written out by the handle of the door.  _ Harmony.  _ Harry stares for a few lingering seconds even after Florin has already entered the room. Then it clicks.  _ Ah, the houses. The green of the meadow is Slytherin and all the flowers are Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and Huffelpuff. _

Harry looks up at the other boy walking throughout the bedroom. He bends down at a little drawer and starts picking through clothes.  _ I wonder what house he is. He seems to be a big mix between Ravenclaw, Huffelpuff, and maybe even a bit of Gryffindor. _

He doesn’t even pause to consider Slytherin.

“What house are you in?” Harry voices.

“You know about the house system?” The teen doesn’t even look back at him but continues to search through the clothing.

“Y-Yea,” He can be a bit honest, “...I’m interested in going to school there.”

Florin looks back at that, “Really!? That would be really cool if you did Harry. Well, I’m in Hufflepuff.” He adds, “Do you know which one you will most likely be in… or want to be in?”

Harry pauses. He didn’t consider having to be placed into another house. But… the hat did want him in Slytherin before and yet he got his way with Gryffindor. Maybe if the situation calls for it, he will go into another house. He’ll fret over that when the day of choosing comes closer though. Who knows, maybe it would be refreshing to get into Hufflepuff. Plus, he already knows Florin.

“Gryffindor is probably most like me,” Florin almost seems to deflate at that, something akin to sadness entering his wide blue eyes. Harry wishes to reverse that, “But I’m willing to be in any, but i don’t think I’m cut for Ravenclaw. I never got the greatest hw grades.”

Florin laughs his charming chuckle at that, “Oh Harry, you don't have to get good grades to be in that house. I know quite a lot of failing students there. The biggest thing about them is that they are wise enough to not procrastinate and study. But that doesn’t mean they know everything...and circumstances of a person change quite a bit.”

Harry wants to scoff, because ya right. But he decides to nod anyway. Maybe he has a point, who knows?

Florin stands with a bundle, “Here you go. A fresh pair of pants and a long sleeve,” Harry is thankful he didn’t offer a pair of his undergarments, ‘I know it’s early. But your clothes look a little soiled. If you want to freshen up, you can use the shower. It’s right through there.” He points to a side door.

Harry takes the clothes, “That would be amazing. My hair feels just a hig sweaty and grimey from where I had fallen asleep earlier.”

Florin giggles quietly, “Well then there you go, bud.” Harry smiles at being called ‘bud’ by the  _ younger  _ male.

Harry raises his hand in mock salute before gliding into the convenient side bathroom. Once he gets in he sets the clothes on the counter by the sink. He closes the dorr silently and turns around and stares at his reflection. Nothing is different from before. Same length and color of hair. His eyes are still bright green. And that small mole sits like a freckle on the bottom of his cheek. And there it is, in all its torment and  _ glory _ , his famous scar.

All the same. Just Harry. It’s a relief to be able to see something that didn’t change. If nothing else, he has himself. He presses a finger into his cheek. Not a dream. He watches his reflection bring his finger across his lips and up his nose and right on to the scar before trailing back to his hair. Not an illusion. He looks ordinary.

He is ordinary. Nothing special.

Harry laughs a weak laugh. How long has he wished to be just like everyone else? All it took was traveling back a couple decades. 

Not a single soul knows his name. His identity. His place in the world. Or his damn path of life.

Now that he is alone with himself he sees it. The real freedom his life has started. No one dying because of a choice he makes. No one looking to him for answers. No spotlight. And no swooning ignorant person throwing them at him.

Just plain Harry.

His favorite version. 

He smirks a tiny bit,  _ all his own _ . His own story. His own individual. A mystery to everyone. 

He starts to take off his jacket. When he sets it on the counter by the rest of the clean clothes, something falls out of the pocket. Looking down, he eyes the last of his favorite candy. It gleams at him to take it. It calls to him in hushed tones.

But as Harry stares at the pretty colors of it, he feels no rush to swallow it down. Because for once in his life, he has no responsibilities. He has no belonging to the worries of the world. He is no longer a piece of the chess board. If he was a king once, he is now a player. He has complete control over his choices.

And something about the ecstasy of this enlightenment makes him want to destroy every one of those purple addictions. It makes him almost outraged that he was taking those. 

He picks it up with shaking fingers. Even though he hates them, his body is silently craving it. And trying not to think about it anymore, he throws it in the loo, and flushes it down the drain. He breathes in deeply and itches the nape of his head.

Ignoring the flare of unease, he moves to the shower and pulls back the curtain. Twisting the nobs in different directions, he waits until he feels the spray water is at the perfect warm temperature for him to enter into.

Afterwards he takes his time unclothing himself of each layer. He even folds them nicely. While pulling of the final piece (boxers Ginny had gotten him as a joke. They are covered in small purple gummy bears), Florin calls to him from the room.

“There’s a spare towel and washcloth in the cabinet.” His soft voice floats from behind the door.

“Okay, thank you.” Harry politely answers while he opens the cabinet doors to grab them.

Harry then turns to finally enter the shower. His skin is already shivering with anticipation from the heated steam pouring out. The mirror is already fogging up from the constricted heat. He sticks his foot in and then brings the rest of his bare body in.

He inhales sharply at the same time as his stomach clenches when it meets the hot pour. His body easily adapts to the heat. He circles around until his whole body is wet. Gliding his hands through his hair, he soaks in the water and sighs at the feel of the warmth hitting his neck. It soothes out the muscles, relaxing his aches and joints. 

Tilting his head back he lets the water wash his bangs back out of his face. Then he turns to the side. He draws a small happy face in the condensation moistening the walls. In seconds it is already deformed by the heavy dripping of water. 

Next, harry fumbles through the bottles of soaps. Some smell like different fragrant flowers or something like that. But Harry’s favorite is the woody rich smell that reminds him of a forest after a rainpour. He uncaps the bottle and dumps a tab onto the palm of his hand. It’s just a plain off white color. But Harry loves the smell. He swears he has smelt it somewhere before. It’s a nostalgic feel. After putting the bottle back, he smears the soap in his hair. It’s slick against the curls of his hair strands. Massaging it into his scalp feels like heaven. He focuses on scrubbing away the dirt and dew of the morning he had been laying in.

A voice filters through the crack of the door, “- _ walk alone, because to tell you the truth, I’ll be lonely _ -”

Harry stops his moving fingers and draws them away from his head. He has already heard Florin singing before, but still amazes him how sweetly it sounds. A hum of tones. Harry closes his eyes and smiles. He steps back under the water and lets it rinse away the studs and soap. And as it does that, he nods his head to the song the other is singing to.

He’s never heard the lyrics before. They are in a different decade after all, yet it resonates in him. It sounds so soft and simple. And Florin’s voice is perfectly pleasant. Harry has rarely heard a voice so marvelous sounding. It makes you feel warm, like a mother’s hug. 

The younger sings on without knowing he is being heard and Harry starts to hum along even though he doesn’t know the tune fully. Teh brunette continues washing his body and rubs his arms where they feel sore from playing quidditch the other day. And then after all the necessities are down, he stands beneath the spray for a bit longer. 

Harry thinks over what the next step is. Briefly, he deliberates if he should tell Florin, but again, he decides to keep that to himself until a later date if the case arises. He meditates on the war and how it will come about. What he can do to stop the rise of it. What measures he will take to bring everyone to safety. Muses at the thought of the professors not allowing him to enter the school because of his age.

Even if he can’t get into the school, he is an adult. So worse comes to worse, he just has to find a way to talk to Dumbledore or someone else in another manner.

He turns the water off and hops out of the tub. He stands on the fluffy towel mat, sinking his toes into it before grabbing his towel to ward off the cold. He ruffles his hair, drying the ending tips, before dragging it across the rest of his body. He moves it along his stomach before slipping down to his thighs and lower regions. He eyes the scars littering his body in designs.

He stands up and places the damp towel on the toilet seat before grabbing the pajamas. He puts on the soft trousers and then the baggy shirt. 

He looks back at his reflection once more. He eyes himself. He had idolized himself to be the same, but already that thought is fading. He isn’t  _ the _ Harry Potter. Something bigger is happening. And it is going to surround every step he takes leading on.

And for once, fear isn’t residing in his questions of ‘what next’.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every fanfic is a new dimension. They can be very similar and yet entirely their own.


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